


Mutual Victory

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Afterlife, Banter, M/M, Post-Fate/Zero, Sparring, Throne of Heroes, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iskandar, King of Conquerors, is nothing if not punctual. He arrives precisely when he says he will, be it on a battlefield or to a banquet. Occasionally he arrives when no one expects him to, but that’s what his Gordius Wheel is for: if one cannot hear and feel him coming, it’s your own fault for being shocked.</p>
<p> So when he finds the phrase <i>You may challenge me any time you wish, King of Conquerors</i> running through his mind after the Holy Grail War ends, he’s very curious indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutual Victory

**Author's Note:**

> I've been busy working on an original project lately, but I've also had this fic on the back-burner for a few months, so...I took a brief break. :D 
> 
> We're playing fast and loose with canon: there's a 99% chance the Throne of Heroes doesn't actually work like this, but oh well. XD 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero.

Iskandar, King of Conquerors, is nothing if not punctual. He arrives precisely when he says he will, be it on a battlefield or to a banquet. Occasionally he arrives when no one expects him to, but that’s what his Gordius Wheel is for: if one cannot hear and feel him coming, it’s your own fault for being shocked.

 So when he finds the phrase _You may challenge me any time you wish, King of Conquerors_ running through his mind after the Holy Grail War ends, he’s very curious indeed.

On the one hand, said offer was given to a shade of Iskandar, created to fight in the Holy Grail War in his place.

On the _other_ hand, a fellow King granted said boon—The King of Heroes at that. And the Throne of Heroes had elected to give a memory of that boon to him. _Who am I to ignore such an invitation? And besides, it’ll be a long time yet before that young vassal of mine can join my army. I need_ something _to do._

Thus decided, Iskandar leaps aboard his Gordius Wheel and sets out to find his new sparring partner.

\---

The Throne of Heroes is a place cobbled together by legend and dreams.

Iskandar supposes there are countries here—Heroic Spirits live in areas that remind them of their homelands.

There are sun-drenched islands decked in vibrant flowers, mysterious forests of a thousand shades of green, rolling hills and deep lakes as blue as sapphires—these are places Iskandar’s only heard of. He prefers craggy mountains, blood-red deserts and endless plains, and thankfully he's not alone in that.

The Throne of Heroes is home for them as Earth once was.

It’s not uncommon for Heroic Spirits of different countries to befriend one another. After all, they are given the same task (protecting humanity at its darkest hours). Thankfully there’s a long time in-between such cataclysms.

And as a bonus for those more bloodlust-inclined, any battles waged here are more for sport than lethality. There’s no point in killing somebody who’s already dead. Thus, sparring matches are an endless source of entertainment.

_With any luck, I’ll have some humorous stories to tell the Hetairoi about when I get back._

He rides alone, this time. He doesn’t feel like dragging his Hetairoi to what could be a fool’s errand—particularly when Gilgamesh’s ire could be raised.

His Gordius Wheel churns up brick-red sand as he continuously checks the map every Heroic Spirit possesses, to avoid anyone wandering into unfriendly territory. The King of Heroes’ palace rests near one of the many oases, a considerable distance from where Iskandar started. _I wonder how I’ll be certain it’s_ his _palace, and not someone else’s?_

Once he arrives at his destination, his question is quickly answered. No one else would have a palace so audacious and dramatic. It’s a visual bombardment.

The walls are made of red mud bricks veined with gold, with statues or carvings of people in congress, battle or both lining the long, long bridge to the front door. The bridge is made of some kind of slick silver stone Iskandar doesn’t recognize, rising up from the clear water beneath it. Fat fish with gleaming golden scales swim in the crystal depths, as lazy as you please.

_Yes, this house could only belong to one person. Even dinner deems itself superior to everyone else._

Iskandar ducks his head to avoid clipping it against a naked man’s marble genitalia, only to be met with an amused chuckle some distance away. Iskandar answers with a boisterous laugh of his own—if a King cannot laugh at himself, who would want to follow him?

“Perhaps I should move that statue,” Gilgamesh calls from his position on the veranda, the red lacquered roof shielding him from the sun. “But then again, you’re quite the hulking mongrel.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, King of Heroes.”

“If you must.”

Gilgamesh isn’t wearing his armor. He’s wearing a white linen shirt and a pair of ridiculous snakeskin pants, with bracelets and a necklace of gold occasionally catching the light. The red couch he’s sitting on looks well plumped for his regal behind. Even in such simple clothes, he makes Iskandar feel overdressed.

Gilgamesh sees him looking and pointedly rests his hands on his belly, slender fingers meshed. “You seem familiar—have we met on some field of battle or other?”

“Why, yes…in a manner of speaking. We recently fought in the Holy Grail War. It appears to have been most exhilarating, otherwise I wouldn’t have remembered your final words to me.”

“Indeed?” Gilgamesh sounds bored beyond comprehension. “I fear I must disagree. It appears my shade has acquired human form, and thus my memories are rather jostled. The most I can recall is a paltry banquet of Kings and a youth in green who hid quite the spine under his prodigious weeping.” He snaps his fingers. “ _Ah_ , yes, that was your Master. Or perhaps your servant?”

Iskandar’s heart glows with pride. _So Waver’s alive then, excellent!_ “Personally, I would call him a friend.”

“Ha! I see. A most difficult treasure to care for.”

“Don’t you have a few to spare?”

“Only one, long ago. He has yet to become part of the Throne of Heroes, as far as I am aware. I’ve given up waiting for such a day.”

Iskandar strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Then that friend must not have meant much to you.”

Gilgamesh leans forward in his seat, his movement subtly predatory. “Take that back _at once_ , mongrel.”

Iskandar can’t help but laugh. “Struck a nerve, did I? Well, then, clearly you must fight for your friend’s honor!”

“Hmph. If you truly wanted a little bout that desperately, you should have asked or challenged me outright.”

_Ah, we’re back to square one I see._ “Do you refuse?”

Gilgamesh cracks his neck and stands, his arms crossed over his chest. “Of course not. However, I _do_ hope you weren’t expecting a lengthy match.”

Iskandar mimics him with a smile. “Frankly, I’d be happy for a bout of any length.”

“That seems tolerable,” Gilgamesh says, not bothering to don his armor. “Very well, you may sully my gymnasium for today.”

“Your lack of enthusiasm is somewhat troubling!”

“Why? No doubt you’ll prove less challenging than a gnat.”

Iskandar sighs and scratches his head. _He’s truly the world’s oldest grump…_

Gilgamesh turns briskly on his heel and strolls along the veranda, turning a corner and nearly disappearing from view. Iskandar follows him, noting the smooth varnish on the wood, the ornate details on the sapphire and glass windows fitted into the cool building protected by the roof. _Is that girl dancing with a mud monster?_

“This is a splendid palace,” he says.

“Of course. There are many privileges afforded me as the first Hero, and I use them gladly.”

Iskandar notes that this place is meant for two people to live in comfort, but doesn’t press the issue.

They walk in silence, until Gilgamesh stops before a curtain of amber beads. He brushes them aside and walks through the door, not bothering to check if Iskandar’s behind him.

The beads are surprisingly cool to the touch as Iskandar ducks his head and pushes them aside. Indeed, “surprisingly cool” is an apt description for the gymnasium: sunlight spills in from the ceiling window, but the white walls that surround them don’t give off heat. A table bearing towels, a gold pitcher and cups sits near the door. He notes the crates full of practice weapons that line the walls, and wonders if they’ve been used lately. _Gilgamesh seems too lazy to bother. Or perhaps they’re meant for guests…?_

“Chose your weapon, mongrel.” Gilgamesh spreads his arms invitingly, his smile mocking. “Or do you plan to stand there gawking all day?”

“You know how to make a guest feel welcome,” Iskandar drawls, strolling around the crates. “Though your choice to withhold the Gate of Babylon is a pleasant surprise.”

“Why should I waste good steel on one who already felt their bite?”

“Hmm.” Iskandar looks at the armory around them for a long moment. “Do you know how to wrestle?”

Gilgamesh laughs. “Of course. I shall allow it.”

Iskandar wants to ask what style Gilgamesh would prefer, but decides that keeping things mysterious is much more entertaining.

They ease into a sideways position, their movements almost synchronized. The whispers of their shifting feet echo in the stillness. Iskandar breaks the silence:

“So, then…whoever falls first loses?”

“Very well.”

Gilgamesh charges.

Iskandar’s genuinely surprised. Thankfully his opponent’s more lightweight: he shoves his weight forward just as Gilgamesh hits him.

 Unfortunately, Gilgamesh’s prepared for that.

_T_ _hud._ A bony fist slams into his chest.

He swings his arm down—but Gilgamesh dances out of reach. He keeps Gilgamesh in his sights, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Unfortunately, Iskandar’s neck can’t turn 360 degrees. Gilgamesh gets behind him and aims a kick at his knee; he only evades it out of sheer luck. Air _swooshes_ past him, a grim reminder.

Now he’s off balance, and Gilgamesh takes the opportunity to tackle him to the ground.

Stone scrapes against his back. The world narrows down to grappling limbs and harsh, panting breaths by Iskandar’s ear. They roll over and over each other, both trying to get free—or atop the other.

Right now, he’s straddling Gilgamesh. It’d be quite the view—blond hair drenched with sweat, cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes dark with bloodlust—if his position weren’t so precarious.

Nails claw the side of his head, leaving sparks of pain behind. He grabs Gilgamesh’s hair and yanks—and lets go a moment later when he gets the wind kicked out of him. He gasps for air; his belly strains.

He instinctively rolls over, and Gilgamesh’s laugh strokes his ear. The genuineness of it is shocking.

“Do you surrender, King of Conquerors?”

Iskandar snorts in response.

“Really?” With deceptive casualness, Gilgamesh pins Iskandar’s arms to the ground. His grip is stronger than expected. “You seem unwilling to escape my hold. Does this impassion you?”

For once, Iskandar finds himself annoyed by his size. Gilgamesh has the advantage: he’s smaller in height and weight, able to maneuver without any trouble.

An idea comes to him. He mutters low enough that Gilgamesh can’t hear him.

“Hmm? Speak louder, mongrel! Or…” Gilgamesh’s voice lowers suggestively. “…Perhaps you desire a kiss?” He leans his face down in a mockery of goodwill.

Iskandar bites his nose.

It feels chewy, tastes salty, and he can’t wait to let go. When he does, he gets an earful of Gilgamesh howling bloody murder and clutching his nose.

“Damn you, damn you, _damn you!_ Such a filthy trick—you _dare_ gall yourself a King?”

He’s a little disappointed Heroic Spirits heal so quickly—he wanted to hear what the King of Heroes sounded like with plugged nostrils. _Oh well, perhaps another day…at least now he’s stopped whining._

Gilgamesh rolls onto his side, clearly debating the merits of biting Iskandar’s nose in retaliation.

“I allowed you to do that.”

“Oh, I know.”

They both lie sprawled out on the floor, panting heavily. They’re close enough that their knees brush. The floor slowly cools their bodies and tempers alike.

“You’re still a cheating mongrel, however.”

“Does it count as cheating if we never created rules in the first place?” Iskandar asks, amused.

“That depends upon which philosopher you asked.”

Iskandar cranes his head to look at him. Gilgamesh is sweating less than him, but clear beads still trickle lazily down his neck. His white shirt isn’t so pristine anymore, clinging wetly to his chest yet revealing very little. The sight is more intriguing than expected.

“Well, King of Conquerors,” Gilgamesh says, his voice carrying a slight rasp, “we shall call that a mutual victory.”

“Heh, alright. Should we wrestle again next time, or enjoy a different sport?”

Gilgamesh chuckles. “‘Next time’, truly? What a foolish notion.” He gets up, stretches languidly, and strolls to the table by the door.

“Here.”

Iskandar catches the towel tossed in his direction. It’s softer than what he’s used to, but it mops the sweat on his brow well enough. He idly checks himself for injuries and finds only the expected bruises. _Hmm, this wasn’t so bad. One might call it exhilarating!_

Gilgamesh wipes the back of his neck with a towel, looking annoyed. “You’re not to tell anyone of how our bout concluded.”

“Why?” Iskandar laughs. “Do you stumble that often?”

“Nothing of the sort. Having other mongrels try that trick on me would be _unbearably_ dull.”

“…So only I can, is that it?”

“Possibly.” A sly smile appears on the King of Heroes’ lips. “Be grateful that I’ve deigned to find you amusing.”

“I’ll consider it.”

Iskandar sits up and watches the sun filter in from the ceiling window, with floating dust motes illuminated by that white glow. He hears Gilgamesh pour two drinks, the melodic sound rolling across the gymnasium.

He looks closer—and raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Is that…water?”

“Indeed. It’s fresh from my royal well this morning.”

“Now _that’s_ a luxury few could afford!”

“Truly? Hmm.”

Suspecting that he’s not going to be handed a drink, Iskandar gets to his feet and walks over to the table. He finds himself staring at the tan, curled fingers twined around the pitcher’s gold handle, at the way Gilgamesh’s supple arm dips and lifts and dips again.

“See something of interest, mongrel?” The words carry an unexpectedly playful lilt.

“Mm. As I recall, you spent the Holy Grail War clad in armor. This is my first time seeing you so casually dressed.”

“In truth, that armor is useful—and uncomfortable after long periods. Yet, it’s better to be uncomfortable than an early corpse.”

“Oh, I see. Where did you get it, anyway?”

“ _That_ is a tale for another time.”

Iskandar chuckles. “In a seductive mood, are you?”

“Not yet. However…” Gilgamesh gives him a thoughtful glance. “…Perhaps that will change. Have you ever been seduced by an ancient King?”

“Not yet. No doubt you prefer that kind of challenge.”

“I assure you, _all_ challenges have an appeal when the mood strikes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Iskandar gets the impression that despite Gilgamesh’s words, he’s not in the mood to be seduced. _No doubt because I bit his nose…_

“Good. Perhaps you _could_ prove entertaining after all.” Gilgamesh’s tone, though pleasant enough, indicates that their visit is coming to an end.

“Your time is a valuable commodity, I see. Very well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your royal luxuries!”

“How unexpectedly agreeable of you. Are you plotting something, King of Conquerors?”

“Honestly, I’m more concerned about _you_!”

Gilgamesh raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well…perhaps you’re correct. I shall let you mull it over.”

This time, Iskandar takes the hint.

Before he leaves the gymnasium, and Gilgamesh’s territory, he hears Gilgamesh call out to him. He looks back curiously.

“Have you seen the King of Knights in your travels?”

“…Pardon my rudeness, but that’s a _very_ suspicious question coming from you. And no, I haven’t seen her.”

“I’ll forgive your impertinence…for now. Oh, well. It was an idle question to begin with.” Gilgamesh turns on his heel and waves a lazy farewell.

_What a strange fellow he is._ Iskandar chuckles to himself. _Not that I can talk!_

He reaches his Gordious Wheel and departs for home, an indescribable feeling rising in his chest. He suspects he’ll make another visit to the King of Heroes’ palace soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated. (Even if it takes me awhile sometimes to reply! ^^;)


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